Rough Around the Edges
by Aubrinaa
Summary: Kurt has a tiny crush, okay maybe a little bigger than that, on Blaine Anderson. Problem is they seem so different. Badboy!Blaine. Lame title is lame, I know.


**Hey y'all... this is just a little something I decided to write last week because I was bored. It won't be a full story, but now I have all these ideas swirling around in my head involving these two lovelies, so maybe if anyone likes it, I'll add to it.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything!**

It was just another boring day at McKinley High to Kurt Hummel. As he tapped his pen against his desk, he couldn't help but cast a sidelong glance at the boy sitting next to him.

Blaine Anderson had the kind of thick, curly hair that a person just longed to run their fingers through. His thick, triangular eyebrows sat on top of sparkly, hazel eyes. And his white simple v-neck layered underneath an old ratty leather jacket just made every teenage girl in the halls go crazy.

Not to mention the boys as well. While his business wasn't quite common knowledge, there were several confirmed sightings of him with other men in his company.

So cliché, Kurt thought to himself, a teenage "bad boy", complete with a leather jacket. Blaine looked like he belonged in the back of some bar, elbowing an old jukebox. However, that didn't stop Kurt from stealing another look at the rugged boy.

But he was already looking right back at Kurt, a smirk dancing on his lips. A warm flush spread across Kurt's face as he quickly dropped his face downwards. Blaine's smirk grew wider as he faced front once again.

"Alright, this next project will be done in pairs, so everyone's just going to work with their partners," the middle-aged teacher droned.

"Uh, Mrs. Kendall?" Kurt raised his hand. He had just transferred to this English class due to a scheduling conflict. "I don't have a partner..."

"Oh, yes," she said as she peered over her glasses. "You're just going to work with the person next to you. Mr. Anderson, you don't have a partner, do you?"

He grinned, showing a set of pearly white teeth. "No," he replied, not taking his eyes off of Kurt. He felt his heart drop to his stomach.

"Good, everyone pair up."

Blaine forced his desk to be touching Kurt's. "Hey," he said, flashing another award-winning smile his way.

"Um." Kurt forced himself to focus. "Hi. Have you, er, read this book before?" He held out an old tattered copy of 'A Tree Grows In Brooklyn' – the book they were to be studying for the project.

Blaine, in turn, produced his own tattered copy with an earlier cover. His looked a little worse for wear, even more so than Kurt's. When Kurt looked at Blaine in disbelief, Blaine responded with a wink.

Kurt quickly closed his jaw. "Sorry, I didn't expect for you-"

"To know how to read?" Blaine raised one eyebrow,

"To know of my favorite book," Kurt clarified.

Blaine shrugged. "I've had it since middle school."

Shyly, Kurt smiled at him before shuffling his papers together.

Over the next two weeks, Kurt and Blaine were getting on as if they'd been friends all along. None of Kurt's friends were in his English class any longer, so there weren't any interferences with Kurt's new found friendship. It felt like his own little secret, an untainted relationship.

The day Mrs. Kendall announced that the projects would be due in just a few days time was the day it clicked in Kurt's mind that he would have to see Blaine out of school in order to finish their work.

"So, we could, erm, go to the Lima Bean one day this week?" Kurt suggested as they were packing up.

Blaine glanced up. "It would be easier to just do it at my place, or something. I'm free today actually."

"I can't, I have-" Kurt felt a familiar heat rush to his face that seemed to be a permanent fixture when Blaine was around. "Okay, yeah, today works for me." Missing a glee rehearsal wouldn't kill him, would it?

Blaine smirked, a trademark expression for the boy. "I'll meet you in the parking lot?" Kurt gulped and nodded.

The bell rang to dismiss the class and Blaine disappeared without another word. Kurt gathered his books together and followed suit.

As he adjusted the combination on the round lock, a shadow fell over him. Just as the lock clicked and the locker opened, a hand slammed it shut.

"What're you doing, faggot?" a low growl snarled, the voice belonging to a much bigger boy in a red letter man jacket. So, it had taken two weeks for the jocks to figure out his new schedule. Two weeks sans incident, but it seemed the bullies were making up for lost time.

Wordlessly, Kurt screwed his combination in once again, willing his attacker to grow bored of the antics and leave him alone.

He had no such luck as the arm once again slammed the metal door shut just as soon as it opened. "Nice going, fag," the bigger boy sneered. Kurt paused, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Hey!" a voice from the distance shouted, followed by heavy footsteps that could only be made by a heavy boot. "Get away from him, asshole!"

The bully had barely turned his head towards the voice before a fist connected with his face with a loud crack. Kurt took a step back with a look of utter bewilderment as he watched the jock push Blaine across the short hall against another row of lockers.

"Stop!" he cried out, but it was no use. Blaine responded with a devastating blow. Briefly, Kurt considered why he had never witnessed a fight that Blaine had been involved in, but none came to mind. Fleetingly, he was reminded of when his stepbrother, Finn, complained about all the times he missed boxing training because Blaine was using the punching bag.

As if Kurt's thoughts had conjured him, Finn appeared between the two boys fighting. "Get lost, Anderson!" he yelled as he pushed him into a water fountain.

"Finn, stop!" Kurt shouted, putting himself between them. It occurred to him that Finn had misread the situation and was just sticking up for his teammate.

Blaine shook it off, adjusting his leather jacket. "You're a lowlife, Hudson," he hissed.

"Why don't you two fags go and blow each other?" the original jock sneered, his upper lip curling. "We'd be better off if all you gays would just kill yourselves."

Quickly Blaine's arms were around Kurt's and he was being steered towards the double doors at the end of the hall which led outside. Kurt didn't fail to notice the musky, faint scent of Blaine's cologne. This was the closest they'd ever been physically. "Are you okay?" His breath tickled against his ear.

"Ye-yeah, I'm okay. Blaine, you really didn't have-"

"Want a ride to my house?"

Kurt blinked. They were in the parking lot, next to a really beat-up 1989 Toyota. "What about eighth period?"

"No one will miss us," he replied, brushing the question off. He walked to his side of the car.

Kurt got in the car and took in his surroundings. Littered on the ground were empty cigarette boxes and on the back bench seat were a few notebooks carelessly tossed. Among them was an empty cardboard box that once held a six pack of beer Kurt had never heard of.

Blaine reached across Kurt's lap to open the glove compartment, startling his thoughts. He pulled out a lighter and used it to light a limp cigarette hanging from his lips. A slow string of smoke exhaled from his lips.

He didn't say much on the drive. It wasn't too much of a ride back, mostly through neighborhoods, before the creaky car made a left into an apartment complex that seemed to match Blaine's car. It was small with just two floors, and all the apartment's entrances were from the outside, like a motel. Some doors had plastic, faded chairs in front of them, one of which was occupied by a woman wearing a housecoat, puffing away on a cigarette of her own.

"Hey, Bernadette," Blaine greeted as he bustled past her, Kurt tight on his heels.

"How're ya' doing, Blaine," she responded, not taking her eyes off the desolate parking lot to hear a retort and paying no attention to Kurt.

Blaine stopped at a big, black door with the number '1205' in metal letters, although the '2' was hanging upside down. "Honey, I'm home," he muttered before leaning his body weight against the door and opening it.

Kurt took in the small apartment in front of him, which definitely was closely related to the state of his car. Empty pizza boxes, shoes, and even liquor bottles were strewn around. 'Does he live here by himself?' Kurt wondered to himself, but he couldn't. He was still in high school. Where would his parents live, if not with Blaine?

"Make yourself comfortable," Blaine told Kurt as he shrugged his heavy jacket off. He discreetly kicked a pair of boxers under his coffee table littered with coffee cup rings. Meanwhile, Kurt lounged on the gray couch, while despite having tears and burn holes, was well worn in and comfortable. He pulled a manila folder out of the designer messenger bag slung over his shoulder. When Blaine emerged from the kitchen bearing two sodas, he was patiently waiting with the folder on his lap. "Easy there, tiger," Blaine chuckled. "We don't need to get it all done today."

"Really?" Kurt asked, confused. "The projects due, like, next week."

Blaine shrugged and set the Cokes down on the table. "I finished it."

Kurt's jaw dropped. "Finished it? You mean the summary, the character analysis, the theme research assignment-"

"-the vocabulary review, and the film comparison? Yeah, that would be the project."

"Blaine, I feel guilty. I didn't want you to do the whole thing by yourself." And eliminate justifying the time spent together.

"Look, don't sweat it, angel." He took the seat next to him. "I get a lot of downtime at work."

"Oh, well, thank you." He turned his head towards Blaine, bringing them that much closer.

"Oh it was my pleasure." He smiled widely then, his extra white teeth gleaming even in the dimly lit room. By now he had inched so close to Kurt on the small couch that their thighs were touching side by side. Once again Kurt was greeted by the lovely scent that was Blaine Anderson. Kurt inhaled inconspicuously - opportunities like these didn't present themselves all the time.

He had no need to worry. Blaine leaned in just a bit closer. "These skin-tight jeans," he whispered huskily, "are driving me crazy." He placed a tan hand on Kurt's leg, and a fluttering erupted in his stomach. And when Blaine's face was a mere inch from Kurt's, the paler boy couldn't help but to close the distance between their lips.

Blaine's lips were impossibly soft, a sharp contrast to the scratchy feel of his stubble. Kurt felt his body lurch forward involuntarily during the travel of Blaine's hand further up his thigh. His own hand stroked the side of Blaine's cheek while the other planted itself firmly on his chest.

Blaine pulled away suddenly, moving just slightly away. "Is this okay?" he murmured, his intense eyes searching Kurt's. Kurt gulped and forced himself to nod, not pulling either hand away. Blaine's lips crashed back onto his, letting his tongue trace Kurt's closed mouth. It opened instantly, searching frantically for the other boy's tongue to massage with his own. Blaine's hand groped his thigh, trying to lead his legs to sling over his lap. Kurt obliged quickly, creating an even smaller distance between the two of them.

When Blaine's lips moved down to Kurt's jawline, Kurt took advantage by tangling his hand in the mess of curls atop Blaine's head. He couldn't bite back his moan when he felt a mouth move up to his left ear. "This ass," Blaine whispered seductively, squeezing it through the black jeans to prove his point. He took a nip at the earlobe, causing Kurt to take a sharp intake of breath.

"Blaine," he called weakly, trying to turn his head. He desperately longed for the feel of stubble against his cheek, and Blaine once again claimed Kurt's lips with his own.

In a swift move, Kurt was suddenly on his back and Blaine's legs were straddling his own. Kurt's hands ran up Blaine's muscular back. All Kurt could smell, taste, _feel_, was Blaine, and his groan slipped out when his lower lip was bitten down on. Hard.

The sound spurred Blaine on. He grinded his hips down once, twice, and Kurt was made acutely aware of Blaine's growing hard on. Blaine gently rested his lower half onto Kurt's in order to free his hands. They gripped the sides of Kurt's face, letting out a groan of his own when Kurt's roaming hands slipped down to his lower back.

Blaine's hands moved to Kurt's shirt - a button-up, for Christ's sake - working deftly to undo the first button. He was just finishing a second when the loud ring of Kurt's phone halted the two hormonal teens.

"Jesus," Blaine breathed, rolling off Kurt between him and the couch. Kurt scrambled to reach his phone in the bag behind him.

"Hi, yes, hello?" he gasped out. "Finn? Um...yeah, yeah, I'll be back for you. Yes, and my truck. Bye." He looked over at Blaine apologetically. "I have to go."

Blaine rolled over now to land his feet on the ground, passing over Kurt's now deflated crotch. "Gotcha. Let's go then."

Kurt led the way out the front door Blaine held open for him, eliciting a soft grope on his backside.


End file.
